


Love is a Place

by rockinhamburger



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, literary devices, tender fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinhamburger/pseuds/rockinhamburger
Summary: As they’re finishing up, Patrick gets out his wallet - to pay, David hopes; he forgot his - but Patrick merely retrieves a key from one of the flaps. He places it on the table beside David’s empty plate. “That’s for you.”A fic about keys.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 71
Kudos: 270





	Love is a Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musictoyourlips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musictoyourlips/gifts).



> I am a few days late on this, but happy birthday to @musictoyourlips! You are amazing and deserve wonderful things <3

David is only running a few minutes late when he slides into the booth across from Patrick, so he narrows his eyes at Patrick’s smirk. “There was a knit emergency.” David opens his menu so he doesn’t have to look at Patrick’s impossibly endearing expression. It’s just a lot at this hour of the morning.

“Wow, an _emergency,_ ” Patrick echoes.

“I’m only a few minutes late,” David defends himself. He closes the menu; he always gets one of three things, so on second thought it’s pretty obvious that he’s hiding behind the menu. Better not give Patrick the satisfaction.

Patrick tilts his head at David when he looks up, and he’s still smirking infuriatingly. “I think calling fifteen minutes ‘a few’ is stretching it.”

David refuses to smile. “Fine, I’m sorry. Again, it was an emergency.”

Patrick leans forward on his attractive forearms. “Mmm. Well, I would love to hear what qualifies as a knit emergency, but we have to open our store in 25 minutes, so we should probably give our order to Twyla first.”

David can’t stand him. He also loves him and is about to tell him so, probably, but Twyla arrives to take their order and to deliver a riveting tale about her great aunt and an escaped python. David is not paying much attention because he’s busy watching Patrick react to Twyla’s story, which is one of his favourite things to do. It’s the height of comedy: buttoned-up, proper Patrick responding to the townies with polite interest, the bafflement hidden just behind his eyes.

They never do get back to the knit emergency because Bob interlopes to ask Patrick for some business advice that David tunes out. Their food arrives while Patrick and Bob are still talking, and Bob finally leaves with a perplexing pronouncement: “I’d better go. Gwen just got back from a Paint Nite weekend at the cabin with some of her online friends. I sure hope they didn’t paint in the bedroom this time; they used acrylic and it was impossible to get out of the bedsheets.”

As Bob jogs off, Patrick waits until he’s out the door to pull out his phone. “I’ll add it to the spreadsheet. Bedroom Paint Nite,” he says with a shake of his head, typing away. “What do we think? That the most obvious one?”

David shakes his head, taking a dignified bite of his omelette. “It’s never gonna happen. What could possibly beat out finding Gwen and two of her ‘internet friends’ in bed together and fully accepting that they were ‘testing out the firmness of the new mattress?’”

Patrick stifles a hearty laugh and puts his phone down. “Are we terrible people?” he asks lightly, only a little bit of guilt evident in his tone.

“Yes!” David says, delighted. “Well, no, you aren’t. I definitely am. But I’ve been told I’m a corrupting influence, so.”

Patrick gives David a heated look, but it’s a very public setting for that. “Put it away,” David admonishes him, and Patrick ducks his head and grins.

David eats his omelette while Patrick works on his toast with marmalade. The cafe is starting to clear out, so it’s quiet apart from the kitchen-y sounds coming from the back and the pot of coffee brewing at the counter.

As they’re finishing up, Patrick gets out his wallet - to pay, David hopes; he forgot his - but Patrick merely retrieves a key from one of the flaps. He places it on the table beside David’s empty plate. “That’s for you.”

David almost knocks over his glass of orange juice. He tries to come up with a joke, but he can’t think of a single one.

Patrick has given him a key. To his new place. A key that, presumably, David is supposed to use to access said place. The place he, mortifyingly, assumed they’d be moving into together. 

Patrick has given him a key.

“Um,” David manages.

“I want to be very clear,” Patrick says when David still hasn’t regained the power of speech. He’s leaning forward, and his eyes are round and soft and David has to look away for a moment. “David? Use it. I really mean that. Stop by anytime.”

David hasn’t touched the key yet. “It’s just… last week, you said… I mean, you didn’t want to—”

“It was never that I didn’t want to,” Patrick says quickly, leaning somehow closer. “I’m giving you a key because I really want you there. Whenever you want to be there. I want you to feel comfortable.”

David clears his throat. He would love to communicate something of what is swirling in his ridiculous brain, but none of it is coherent yet.

David has never been given a key. This is not a step he’s familiar with. The people David has dated wanted him out as soon as possible or wanted other people instead of him after a (very short) time. David wears people thin; none of David’s exes would have given him a method with which to grate even more on their nerves.

No one’s ever wanted David to just… stop by. To make himself comfortable in their space.

How Patrick hasn’t tired of his antics, David will never know. Poor thing, Patrick has decided _this_ is what he wants, an emotionally stunted, basically destitute failure of a human being, who is chronically late and a terrible influence, not great with manual labour… At this point, David has given up trying to understand how it is they fit so well, given Patrick is the diametric opposite of David in all these ways.

David gingerly takes Patrick’s key off the table and adds it to his key ring, between the key for their store and the one to the motel room. He eyes the only other key on the ring, the one to his old apartment in New York. He tucks it all away, clearing his throat.

“Thank you,” David says. There’s only one thing he can think of to say. “No one’s ever given me a key before.”

Patrick watches him for a moment like he sees right into David’s soul, and he smiles his beautiful sunny smile. “Their loss,” Patrick says, and then he heads over to the counter to pay their bill.

David loves him so much.

-

The locksmith hands three keys to Patrick and rings them up. David expects Patrick to hand him his key, keep his own, and put the spare away to give to Stevie later, but Patrick leads the way outside where the cool October air makes David smile the moment they step outside.

By the car, Patrick turns to him. He holds one of the keys out.

“Couldn’t do this in front of an audience,” Patrick explains, “These are the keys to our home.” His eyes are huge and soulful, and David has to kiss him.

Yes. This is not Patrick’s or David’s key, it’s the key to their home.

David takes out his key ring. The key to their store is there, which unlocks the door to a thriving business, miraculous as that still is to David sometimes. 

The ring also holds Patrick’s apartment key and will until the lease is up next month. It took weeks of endless teasing from Patrick to feel comfortable using this key, to the point where now it’s almost as normal as breathing. To let himself in.

There is an empty space on the key ring where the motel key once was before he gave it to Stevie when he and Alexis moved out; the new one will help to fill that space. Eyes stinging, he adds the key to their cottage home to the ring.

His attention lands finally on the key to his old apartment, stubbornly hanging on. He thinks for a moment, and then he takes it off the ring and hands it to Patrick, who holds his hand out automatically, open and trusting as always.

“That’s the key for my old apartment in New York.” David looks away from Patrick’s sudden and overwhelmingly fond expression. “Um. They for sure changed the lock, so it won’t work or anything.” Patrick lets out a watery laugh. “I couldn’t throw it away all these years. I know it’s stupid—” he ignores Patrick’s emphatic head shake “—I held onto it because it was a little piece of my old life that I thought I could return to one day. But I don’t need it anymore. I don’t _want_ it anymore.” David clears his throat and meets Patrick’s warm gaze. “I don’t have much from that time in my life, but all of it? It’s yours, Patrick. _These_ are the keys I want.”

“David.” Patrick pulls David into a searing kiss, then hugs him tightly. He lets out a happy breath against David’s throat and they sway for a moment. Patrick sighs. “You’re really something, David Rose.”

“Debatable,” David says, and Patrick swoops in for a laughing kiss that is perfect.

It’s all perfect.

Except for the fact that his husband is a menace, of course. “I’ll have to give Alexis a call,” Patrick says, eyes shining with mirth, and David’s already pulling away with a completely earned huff. “She’ll be thrilled you borrowed her key metaphor.”

“ _Okay_. First of all, it’s not _her_ key metaphor. Nobody owns metaphors,” David counters, opening the door to the passenger side and throwing himself dramatically inside. Patrick slides into the driver’s seat, and he is smirking! “And anyway, it’s not even a metaphor, it’s a symbol. Don’t you know your literary devices?”

“Right, right, a symbol,” Patrick hums, starting the car and backing out of the parking lot. “Well, it’s a very touching symbol. Thank you. You must’ve aced the course on literary devices.”

“I got a solid C+, thank you,” David says. “My TA’s girlfriend dumped him so she could spend Spring Break with me in Hawaii, so he flunked me. Unfortunately for him, Bettina was also the daughter of the department head.”

“Ooh,” Patrick says. “Now, I believe that’s what we call situational irony.”

David can’t stand him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @Likerealpeopledo for the beta work, for workshopping titles, and for generally being a great person to vent with about writing. Thanks also to @fishyspots for validation and cheerleading!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
